


Stories of the Second Self: The Swing of Things

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [66]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Jerrod Connor does an intervention to get his younger brother out of the werewolf street pack life. He and Michael ride over to a diner to spend time talking,  and so that Jerrod can show Michael that there's more than Pack Life.
Series: Alter Idem [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: The Swing of Things

Sporadic road signs amid many more trees zipped by as Jerrod rode his motorcycle. To his side rode Micheal, his little brother and the first werewolf convert Jerrod knew, as he himself had spontaneously changed. There had been other converts since, but Michael did it to join a street pack, and when Jerrod got home from being deployed for two years solid, he took it on himself to straighten Michael out.

Also, Jerrod realized that he felt guilty leaving the family for the Guard, not that he had a choice. This was as much penance for himself as for Michael. It became a weekly pilgrimage for him and Michael to cruise down to Cincinnati and hang out. Back in the home town there wasn't much to do.

Buildings increased in frequency, until they dominated the scene over the abundant trees of early spring. It was chilly, but neither Jerrod or Michael felt cold, even with the wind gusting past them. Jerrod and Michael pulled into an open air diner and parked their bikes.

Taking his helmet off, Jerrod watched Michael do the same with visibly less familiarity with the straps. But, he was wearing like he swore to do. It was more about avoiding run-ins with the law than for actual safety, as werewolves could recover from head trauma and just about everything else faster than most people. Only memory loss would've been a lasting condition.

"This is closer to Silverton than Norwood," Jerrod warned Michael, "So while it's sort of neutral turf, things can still go south more for us than for anyone else if we pop off to anybody. You listening?"

Micheal wasn't paying attention, rather he was starring at the Fae chick at one of the outdoor tables. "Wow, that's a hell of a rack... Uh, I mean her head."

"Oh, that's Miranda," Jerrod said, with recognition while another Fae, a waitress led them to a table. "She works here paying her way through school."

"And that guy she's sitting with, the howler, is her boyfriend?" Michael wondered, still looking as he sat down. "Is that a thing? Different castes dating?"

"If you pay closer attention to his mannerisms you'll see they're not dating," Jerrod replied, and then turned up to the Fae with smaller antlers, "I'll take a Coors and he's only ordering from the non-alcoholic drinks."

"A coke," Michael said, and glanced at Jerrod for an approving nod.

"A Coors and a Coke," she repeated, "and I'll have those right out to you."

Jerrod watched Michael pick up the menu before asking, "Know what you want?"

"Not yet," Michael answered, and then glanced up when singing started.

Jerrod also looked over, seeing that Miranda was now at the improvised stage performing with an acoustic guitar. There was something unique about Fae singing. Musical talent was visited upon any caste, just like with humans, but there were notes and vocal control from a Fae that made them otherworldly. In a new world of supernatural, that was saying a lot.

Miranda's werewolf friend sat near the front absorbed by the tune. While others were also enraptured, Jerrod noticed several high school aged kids walking past until reaching the corner of the street. One of them flipped his thumb up from his other fingers, and a flame hovered over the tip, with which he lit up a cigarette. Jerrod noticed that a thumb ring had glowed blue while the flame burned.

Not the most dramatic demonstration of magic, Jerrod had seen, not even close, it still jarred him witnessing its use so casually. "Mike."

Michael turned, "What?"

Jerrod nodded to the kids out by the corner.

When he looked, Jerrod recognized enthusiasm in Michael's expression, as he realized who they were, "Yeah, I know a couple of those guys. They're Ridgewood Pack homies."

"I gathered that," Jerrod said, "You still want to hang with them, don't you?"

"I miss the life," Michael admitted.

"Me, I'm just getting used to the fact I don't have to do armed patrols around here," Jerrod reflected, still imaging his squad pacing down both sides of this very street in full gear and rifles out.

"This street?" Michael asked, turning back again. "An' Ridgewood put up with that?"

"Oh, that's right," Jerrod feigned realization, "You hadn't joined yet when we had our little shootout about a block from here. Ridgewood thought they'd roll this neighborhood until they ran into two gangs much tougher. My Guard unit, and this high-end mofo goin' round like the Witch King of Angmar, and I shit you not about that."

Then a scent hit Jerrod's nose before the shadow of a man cast over the table. Intimately familiar with the smell of putrescine, he didn't pick that up from this particular dead man standing before their table. And he wasn't a waiter.

"Need somethin'?" Michael huffed without thinking about it.

"Hey, Mike?" Jerrod prompted, leaning his temple against his fingertips. "Know who you're fuckin' with, please."

"What?" Micheal scoffed, then returned his attention to the vampire leering down at the two.

"Hour's a little late for you to be buyin', isn't it?" Jerrod asked the vampire in the thick hoodie and two pairs of jeans.

"Been a bit of a dry spell, if you know what I mean," the vampire admitted, his mouth full of normal-length hooked-razor teeth adding to the chilling vibe his solid black eyes created.

"Buying?" Michael repeated to Jerrod in confusion, "Buying what?"

"This is the other reason I bring you out here," Jerrod said, pointing to Michael. "This ain't the city you and I remember even a year ago, let alone three. You gotta learn how things are now. Your average night...," Jerrod caught himself from saying 'nightcrawler' and quickly corrected, "vampire buys blood from volunteer sellers. Solves their problem without Open Feeding, and lets others score a few bucks. Werewolves can double their 470 everyday and be fine, so that's something to think about. Just that it's generally done in predawn hours."

"What's 470?" Michael asked Jerrod.

The vampire answered in Jerrod's stead. "Four-seventy is milliliters. It's what humans can safely give every two months."

"How much do you usually pay for that?" Michael asked.

"Last time, I shelled out thirty-five dollars for a pint," the vampire revealed.

"That's it?" Michael blurted out in disbelief and disappointment.

"We don't have to screen for disease or ask questions some people ain't up to answering," the vampire said, still exuding his creeper persona, creepy even by the standards of the undead.

"Though, if you're a werewolf," at which point the vampire leaned enough to see Michael's scalp hair extended down the back and sides of his neck, "you could still rack up a lot of money in a week. Giants too."

"'That true," Michael leaned forward whispering, clearly unsettled by the vampire studying his neck.

"He's not lyin'," Jerrod said. "I've done it myself. Just that I'm not a regular dealer. It's still dangerous, but not because of guys like him," Jerrod waved at the vampire.

"What's so bad then?" Michael asked.

"Sorry, not just now," Jerrod said to the vampire, "But if you're here for another hour or so I can."

"Sorry, gotta run by then," the vampire replied, "My EMT class starts in a couple hours."

With that, the vampire turned and walked away, social awkwardness dripping from every motion.

"Good thing he left," Michael said haughtily.

"Why?" Jerrod chinned to Michael. "What would you do about it if he didn't? He might not look it, but that guy's stronger than the two of us together, even if we turned right here. He'd probably still kick our asses."

"Nah!" Michael denied, "C'mon, you taken worse than him."

"Mike, I had a rifle, grenades, and other soldiers with me," Jerrod reminded. "Tell you the truth, I'd much rather have things the way they are now than during the occupation. The shit I saw does things to you."

Then Jerrod returned to his train of thought. "It's the hour. Nothin' good goes on in the early morning of colder months. Cops know it, so they keep a close eye on people who 'just happen to be out walkin' around and yet not be heading to or from work. That's when your homies would be comin' back from bangin' somebody or knocking off a store. Wrong word or the wrong attitude and suddenly a gun's in your face. Cops know to carry silver rounds now, Mike."

"I didn't know that," Mike said.

"An' a lot of people pack UVC lights, in case then run into a vampire less compliant with the law," Jerrod added, "Though, I don't, because people are expecting some kind of inter-caste street war like those old vampire and werewolf movies."

"I thought it was angels and vampires were the ones didn't like each other," Mike said.

"See, we know that now," Jerrod affirmed, but with a caveat. "Though, people don't just fit neat little stereotypes. Miranda, for instance, she doesn't mind being seen with a howler. A lot of Fae dislike us in particular because of some who's more in tune with nature thing. And giants? They got problems like no one else."

The waitress returned, "Here are your drinks. Have you decided what you want?"

"Uh, yeah, I'll get this prime rib special," Mike answered.

"Okay, and for you?" she asked Jerrod.

"I was thinking something breakfast," he replied, picking up the menu for the first time, and then passed it over to her. "But, prime rib sounds good."

"Okay," she jotted down, and then took the menus.


End file.
